


The Hardest Thing

by frenchposie



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anger, Anxiety, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Missed Medication, My attempt at fluff, Vacation, doctor's orders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-14
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-11-17 21:10:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18106529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frenchposie/pseuds/frenchposie
Summary: Mycroft forgets his medication when he and Greg go away for the weekend.  His normally controlled anxiety get's the best of him, and he has to deal with the fall-out.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by DaisyFairy's "Where Do We Start?"

Mycroft felt ashamed.   He pressed a hand against his nose and mouth as he forced himself to breath through the icy breath of anxiety which creeped thought his heart and spread across his chest.  His arm hairs stood up as his throat constricted and the guilt of what he had done flushed through his body like antifreeze is flushed out of a car.

Staring at the robin’s egg blue wall of the hotel room which was supposed to house himself and Gregory for a weekend, he felt his stomach give a violent turn.  Forcing his stomach to settle, he gave a small burp as his body let him know that it was anything but settled. 

The weekend had not started like this, of course.  A weekend away was just what the doctor had ordered.  Specifically for Gregory.  The man had started to have anxiety attacks, and his GP had stated that he needed to stop working weekends which were not specifically mandatory.  Mycroft had decided, at once, that the two of them would take a long weekend away.  He had booked a hotel room in the Lake District, and planned on making sure that Gregory was able to get the relaxation that he so desperately needed.

What he didn’t realize until they got there, however, was that he had left his anxiety medication at home.  He’d been taking his pills at night for ages, but figured that – at worst – he would be without it for a few nights.  He could manage, he had thought. 

He recalled how his stress level had spiked suddenly after he came down to the hotel bar and saw Gregory chatting casually with a female there.  Of course Gregory was bi-sexual.  He’d had a wife and had two children from the marriage.  Mycroft knew that he had fancied, even loved, his now ex-wife, and that he had done the same for Mycroft himself.  Normally, he wouldn’t have cared.  He would have enjoyed the end of the conversation with the two of them, and then their night would have continued.  But, there was something about the ease of Gregory’s laugh that made the lack of his medication mix just so with the unease of his anxiety.  His worst fears about Gregory cheating on him and leaving him overwhelmed him and he wound up giving Gregory the cold shoulder, biting and snapping at him all night until finally they retreated to their room in silence.

When pressed for a well deserved explanation, Mycroft had accused the man of awful things. 

Shutting out the blue wall, Mycroft pressed his eyes closed.

_“If you wanted to go back to women, Gregory, the least you could have done was told me before picking your paramour!” Mycroft had yelled at him._

_The look of confusion and hurt on Gregory’s face would have been funny if it wasn’t caused by such a horrific accusation._

_“Mycroft, I don’t know what’s happening.  Why are you accusing me…”_

_“Of being a slut, Gregory?  Of bouncing from one person to another whenever it suits you? Of doing this behind my back because you like being a kept man?”_

Mycroft felt ill.  He had accused his beloved of the most awful things completely unprovoked.  He’d contacted Anthea and had her bring him his medicine the following day, and now – even just one day later, he was starting to feel his neuropathways realign.  It was as though logic was clicking back into place and with it followed the guilt and the shame of what he had done… what he had _said_.

Gregory had gone back to work, as planned.  They had spent both nights in separate rooms, and Mycroft had been informed that Gregory had paid for his own rooms.  _Thus proving that he’s not a kept man.  Thus proving he doesn’t need me, my money, nothing._ The realization that Gregory really didn’t need him, for as much as Mycroft liked to pay for things and make life a little easier for the aging detective, struck him like a hammer to the chest.  He put up with Mycroft – his obsessive compulsive tendencies, the way he tended towards more refined tastes than Gregory had, his high blood pressure, late hours, unpredictable travel schedule, insomniac, and workaholic ways.  Gregory put up with these things – he’d previously said – because he loved Mycroft.  Now that was over.  It had to be.  Gregory didn’t even tell him when he was leaving the hotel.

In the end, caring may not have been an advantage, but it had been lovely while it lasted.  Knowing that he couldn’t undo the damage that his atypical, unmedicated, mind had done, Mycroft packed his bags.  He would go back to London and get to work.  The world did not rest due to his own aching heart.  He was afraid to go home; to see Gregory’s side of the closet empty, his shoes not by the door, his strange collection of coffee mugs gone from the cupboards. 

Part of Mycroft knew that he had to apologize.  But, how would he explain himself?  That he didn’t take his medication and his anxiety got the best of him?  The whole concept seemed like an odd cop-out.  Forgive me; my brain lied?  He’d heard of such excuses before and he blamed the person for not having better control of their logical mind.  And what of Gregory’s health?  The whole point of the weekend had been to give the man the rest that his doctor said he needed.  And, what did Mycroft do? He spiked the stress; he made it worse.  So very much worse.

Drawing himself up to his full height, he stoically got changed and called for his car.  He didn’t want to talk to anyone about this weekend.  He didn’t want to go home.  All he wanted to do was through himself into his work.  There was enough to be done.  There always was.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back in London...

By the time Mycroft dragged himself through the door of his home, he was ragged.  He had pushed too hard.  Too much stress, too many hard decisions.  Every decision that he had been putting off, every meeting that had been too insignificant, gave way to paperwork, and finally the analyzation of meeting minutes until his brain could no longer process the words.  Words gave way to simple nods and gestures, which Anthea followed until she opened the door to his house and let him in.  He gave her half a grin and trudged his way inside, thankful that she didn’t follow.  He needed a shower and to fall asleep somewhere that didn’t remind him of – or smell of – Gregory. 

Before he and Gregory had gotten together, he didn’t understand love.  Then, while they were together, he didn’t understand it, but knew that he liked it and that it was worth fighting for.  Now that it was over… he was appalled that how – although he was too tired to form complete thoughts – and words had been out of the question for hours – he was still able to feel a pinching pain in the hollow of his chest when he thought of what he had lost; how hard it would be to stay in bed without Gregory there to keep him warm, to make him feel safe.  It was all quite unfair.

Making his way into the en suite, he divested himself of his suit and nearly crawled into the shower, choosing to sit on the floor and do a mediocre job of cleaning himself as the spray hit him and impeded his ability to breathe.  Finally, he hauled himself to his feet and dressed in his pajama bottoms. 

As he climbed into bed, his exhausted brain and broken heart made him envision that Gregory was there, in bed, along side him.  He allowed himself to believe the hallucination for just one night.  He was too tired to go through a logical analysis right now.

“Just pajama bottoms?” Gregory’s deep voice reverberated over the pillows.  His voice always went down at least half an octave when he slept.

“Mm,” was all the Mycroft could say as sleep started to overtake him and he imagined that Gregory’s strong arms wrapped around him and warm body pressed up against Mycroft’s own.

\---

As Mycroft awoke, the exhaustion riddled migraine that pressed against his skull made him wish that Gregory was wrapped around him.  His exothermic nature made him comfortable, even when the last thing that Mycroft wanted was human touch.  His anxiety surged through him as he recalled that he had shoved that warmth away from him.  He recalled the look of confusion and hurt on Gregory’s face, that he had put there.  It was worse than if he had shoved or punched the man.  He’d landed a blow so harsh and deadly that. 

His stomach lurched and he ran into the en-suite.  After a few minutes of his body trying to violently expel his eyes, his brain, and his internal organs, there was a knock on the door. 

He didn’t answer.  Why would he answer a hallucination?

The knock came again, and the door opened a crack.  Gregory popped his head around and gave the man a frown.  “Mycroft, what’s the matter?  Dinner not agree with you?”

Knowing that he must be hallucinating, Mycroft’s thoughts moved like he was thinking through cotton.  He actually felt like his brain was creaking. 

“Migraine,” he breathed.  “And I miss Gregory,” he admitted, mostly to himself.  His guilt swam and his innards lurched again.

“Poor thing,” hallucination-Gregory mentioned, opening the cupboard and pulling out Mycroft’s morning medication with an additional pill for his migraine.  He ran the tap and filled a small paper cup.  “Here you go, love.”

Mycroft looked at the pills and the kind brown eye that he no longer had the right to see.  “Gregory… is that really you?” he asked, reaching out for the pills.  His hands shook, fear making him tremble as he worried that he would reach right through him.  But, that’s not what happened.  Rather, he felt Gregory’s hand.  Took the pills and the water, swallowing it down even though it didn’t make him feel any better.  He knew it would – at least eventually. 

“Of course,” Gregory said, laughing lightly and sitting on the edge of the tub.  “You were out late last night, are you all right?”

“Work,” was all Mycroft could say.

“I figured,” Gregory said, just looking upon his poor, ill, partner. 

“Pity isn’t a look I want to see on your face.  Please.  I don’t deserve it.”

A snippy comment was right on the edge of Gregory’s tongue, but he just smiled sadly.  “Are you ready for me to pour you back into bed, love?  I’ll text Anthea so she knows you’ll work from home this afternoon.” 

Mycroft opened his moth and then sighed.  He could read Gregory so easily.  The man wore his heart on his sleeve, and in his eyes.  And he could see that the pain of the words that he had used over the weekend had caused a ripple of tremors in Gregory, just as it had in himself.  He nodded, eyes turned towards the floor.  He expected Gregory to get up and leave him.  He deserved it.  He deserved to be the huddled mass in pain on the en-suite floor, yearning for the reality that he had cast aside so easily because he had missed a few pills. 

“Mycroft, do you think you’re ready to go back to bed?” Gregory asked, holding his hand out. 

A nod of his head.  He was terrified to say anything, lest he cause the end of what he saw as a very tenuous situation. 

Mycroft groaned as he leaned back in bed.  “Gregory, I didn’t expect you to be here,” he said, honestly, fatigued as he felt his medication start to kick in. 

“Oh.” The word was spoke softly.  The sadness that emanated from the one word was downright painful. 

“Not that I don’t want you here.” Mycroft tried to cover.

“But?” Gregory filled in for him. 

Mycroft looked at him; Gregory’s big brown eyes were filled with an uncertainness.  The same that he’d seen when his relationship with his wife was starting to crumble. It was all happening without his knowledge or consent.  Again.  But, this time, Mycroft was the one being cruel. “No, no ‘but.’  Just, I thought you wouldn’t love me anymore.  How could you?”

He felt the bed dip as Gregory sat on his side of the bed.  “I didn’t want to discuss this while you feel so run down.  But, did you really think that I was going to cheat on you?”

“No,” Mycroft breathed with a very small shake of his head.  And even that was too much. 

“Then why?”

“Because I hadn’t had my anxiety medication for a few days. I thought I could last, but…”

“Jesus, Mycroft.  Why didn’t you tell me that you didn’t have your pills?  We could have stopped at a chemist or I would have texted Anthea and she could have overnighted them or had them brought.  Or I wouldn’t have left if I knew you were hurting.  Anything.”

“It’s a bad excuse.  My medication regulates me, but I should have more control. Logic – “

“Logic is how you work, and if I was doing things to make you uncomfortable… well then I guess I need to think about what I do, how I act.”  He felt cold. He’d done a lot of thinking about how he should act and how much of his personality he was willing to change to keep Mycroft.  He didn’t want to change that much, though and it was painful.  It was all so painful to know that he had hurt Mycroft by just being himself.  And that he didn’t want to change that.  He _liked_ that about himself.

“It’s not that.  Logic is how I act.  But, without my medication, all of my insecurities… I most deeply apologize Gregory.  You didn’t do anything wrong.  I usually like when you talk to people and then leave with me.  But, without my medication…”

“It really was the medication?  Not that you’ve been harboring these feelings and they just came out because of the medication?” Gregory asked, not realizing that the questions needed two different answers to mean the same thing.

“Yes, no.  I don’t know.”  He stroked his thumbs across his aching temples.  “I just know that I didn’t expect to act like that.  And I most certainly didn’t mean what I said about thinking you’d cheat on me.” He drew in a deep breath and then sighed. 

“Do you think that I’m using you for your money?” Gregory asked, the insecure tone back in his voice. 

“No.  It never crossed my mind.  I said it with the intent to hurt.  And I did, obviously.  And I’m sorry. I’ll say it forever if it would make you stay.  But, I’ll understand if you want to leave.”  He yawned deeply and missed Gregory’s look of confusion. 

Gregory sighed.  “You’re tired.  You should sleep a little more.”

Small sounds of distress worked their way out of Mycroft, even as he tried to quell the rising panic.  His head was already splitting.  A hand on his arm.  He was afraid if he shook it off, that it would never occur again. 

“Mycroft what is it?” 

Uncertain.  Insecure.  And now worried.  What was he doing to the man he loved?  He was supposed to be taking care of him, and now it was the other way around.  “I don’t feel well, and I’m afraid if I go to sleep, you’ll be gone when I wake up.”

“You think I’d abandon you when you’re ill?”

“I think you’re a hallucination,” Mycroft admitted, fearful that he was correct.

Gregory sighed.  He had known that something was wrong when Mycroft was inexplicably angry.  He had worried that Mycroft really thought that he was a leech, someone who only loved the man for what he could get from him.  It had been something that Mycroft had experienced before.  And if he was really unmedicated, Gregory could see why those words were used to hurt.  And they did.  He knew that he had choices to make.  To leave, as the anxiety had foretold Mycroft he would.  Or to stay – which was really his only option.

As Mycroft lay in bed, he felt Gregory’s warm body press against his once again.  “I’ll be right here.  Sleep love.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There may be another chapter, but I don't know.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next time they go away...

Mycroft grumbled to himself as nimble fingers buttoned his waistcoat.  Looking at himself in the mirror, he debated taking off his sleeve bracers, but decided that Gregory usually liked them.  He smiled a bit to himself as he thought about how those expressive brown eyes would linger for barely a second more when he took off his jacket, but before he removed his waistcoat.  It had been a stressful day with negotiations that did not go as planned and ended in a standstill.  Monday was going to be hell.  But, for now, he was going to enjoy time with Gregory.

They’d tried for another weekend in the country.  Mycroft was sure to have his medication on him, but got caught up in a conference call that ran all day.  Gregory had gone for a hike, far too used to making due on his own.  Riding down in the lift, he wondered what the girl that Gregory was chatting up would look like.  He had a strong leading towards blondes, but once in a while he would find an interesting brunette and be discussing her work of his children.  He bet himself that it would be a brunette talking about work.  After all, that was what was keeping Mycroft away, so it made sense that it would be on his mind.

Coming to the bar area of the hotel restaurant, he paused.  Gregory was not at the bar.  His heart thudded in his chest as he felt for his phone in his breast pocket.  Assured that it was still there, and knowing that he didn’t feel it vibrate, he looked around the closed in bar area.  Sitting on a couch, reading a magazine sat his Gregory.  He was isolated from everyone else and had two brandy glasses in front of him.  This was dramatically out of the ordinary, and it caused Mycroft’s brow to furrow as he approached. 

“Hey love,” Gregory said, putting down the magazine.  “They had Cardenal Mendoza, so I got us each a glass.”

“Very nice,” Mycroft said, giving an approving smile as he sat down.  “Did you enjoy yourself today?” he asked, taking a sip.

Gregory nodded.  “Yes, I went for a hike and then a massage before coming up and getting my shower.  I’m sorry if they could hear the spray in the background.  I did try to be quiet.”

“It was fine.  I had muted my line for most of it.”  And he was wearing his headset besides, so he knew Gregory didn’t hear anything that he wasn’t supposed to. 

“Nobody worth talking to while you were waiting?” he asked, as the waiter showed them to their table.  He was most curious as to why Gregory wasn’t sitting with people.  He always sat with people.  It was part of his charm, and something that Mycroft adored.

Gregory had figured that Mycroft would notice the deviation in behavior.  “Nope.  No one was particularly chatty.” The fact was that he hadn’t tried.  And by getting Mycroft’s drink at the same time as his, he was showing anyone who might want to talk to him that he was waiting for someone else.  He did love being outgoing, but he could talk to people when Mycroft wasn’t around.  He didn’t want a replay of last time. 

Mycroft immediately doubted the validity of that statement.  He was certain that Gregory could find something interesting about everyone in the room if he struck up a conversation with them.  He paused and held his breath for a three count.  It wasn’t worth fighting over, but he was not pleased that his outburst had caused Gregory to change in such a manner.  Ripple effects were powerful things.  And this one was very close to the initial drop. 

After a pleasant if uneventful meal and a shared dessert, they went up to the room.  Shedding their clothes, they fell onto the bed kissing gently.  This was precisely the type of weekend they were supposed to be having, and Mycroft was so pleased that he hadn’t mucked this one up as well.  He knew that he would have to talk to Gregory about the change that he’d noticed earlier.  But, now was not the time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still not sure how to end this. But, I hope something will come to me.


End file.
